Moana of Motunui
by Forthwith16
Summary: Life as Motunui's chief has never been easy, but it would be a great deal easier if the world were not dying around them – or at least if someone else noticed that. A thousand years have passed since the demigod Maui was last seen, and without Te Fiti's heart, Moana can only hope someone else will save the world while she saves her people. That is what a chief does, after all.
1. Conscientiousness

_First Leg - A World Without Gods  
From Moana's Log - Conscientiousness_

Among all the temptations of the world, nothing possessed the same endless allure as the words, 'What if'. What if she left? What would she find? What would she do? What if she could make it past the reef? What would the world give her? Where would the ocean take her?

The wind swept past, pushing and pulling her in time with the waves of the ocean. The crest of a large wave bore down upon the reef far from shore. She surged forward to meet it, swooped down, bending at the knees, and leapt into the air. She was alive and free, wild and untamed.

The world fell back into peace, leaving her swaying along with the gentle rise and fall of the ocean.

"Moana!" came a faint echo from far below.

Moana blinked.

What _if_ she left? What would she leave behind? What would that do to _who_ she left behind? What if they tried to follow her? What would the world give them? What would the ocean take from them?

Broken from her trance, Moana turned away from the sea. _Another day,_ she promised herself. _Someday soon._ A weak smile stretched across her face at the thought. It would be for the best. It truly would be. _It may well be the only way we make it through this._

Moana's eyes fell onto a tower of heavy stones rising up to become the very highest point on the island. Each of Motunui's chiefs had carried one stone here in an unbroken chain spanning more generations than anyone could remember. There was the stone her first cousin five times removed had brought, and atop his, her great-great-great-aunt's. Then came her great-great-uncle's and her grandfather's atop that. Next was her father's, and atop them all rested her own.

"Which one of you was the last to sail the sea? Why did you stop?"

No answer came. Not that Moana had expected one. Even in this most sacred of places, a stone was just a stone.

"Well, I'm sure you had a good reason. I just wish I knew what it was. Then I could think I'm mad, too."

From atop the pile of stones, Moana retrieved her lei. Not once had she ever thought she had been _wrong_ to take her place as chief of Motunui, but neither could she deny that it tied her inescapably to her people.

Moana replaced her lei upon her brow with a sigh, her eyes lingering on her stone. What if? What a cruel question that was.

 _Right then,_ Moana thought, slapping her cheeks. _That's enough self-pity for today, I think._ With that, she straightened her pa'u and set out down the mountain to face the rest of the world. One way or another, for better or for worse, this day was going to be the very first of the next part of both her life and her people's.

At the base of of the mountain, Moana found the source of the earlier call waiting for her. Hine was perhaps the only other person on Motunui who truly understood the meaning of wanderlust, but the young woman held no love for the ocean or its depths. No, of all things, it was the stars and the sky that fascinated her. Moana blamed that hopeless quirk's existence on Hine's parents for their choice of name.

"Hail, O Goddess of the Night!"

"Don't make me drag you to the underworld, _Chief_ ," Hine said, drawing a chuckle from Moana. That would never get old.

Moana took a deep breath to prepare herself. "So? Bad news?"

Lips pressed together, Hine nodded. "The disease is still spreading."

Unsurprised, Moana asked, "What's the damage?"

"Another coconut tree had to be felled, and we lost a half-dozen other fruit trees that were showing signs of trouble as well."

Despite already knowing what the answer would be, Moana asked, "Any fish?"

"No more than usual."

"No more than usual _anymore_ ," Moana said. 'Usual' used to mean that there would be plenty for everyone. These days it meant they were lucky to avoid having to raid their storehouses to eat, and it was getting harder and harder to hide that fact. "How are the new groves growing in?"

"There haven't been any problems so far. The first two are finished with the third well on its way. If your dad is to be believed, we should have the necessary space cleared on the other side of the island soon. He also said the soil isn't any better–"

"I know," Moana interrupted. She _did not_ want to have that discussion again with her father, especially not by proxy through Hine. Tradition could go hang itself when her people were in need. "He acts like I wasn't aware of the fact when I made the decision. It's far from the initial outbreak of the disease and should serve well enough as a quarantine. That's all I care about. He has seen to it that the entire area was scorched and the boundary both salted and paved with _stone_ , correct?"

"Yes, yes, and almost. We're running short on free hands to chisel stone with how busy you're keeping everyone, but it's nearly done."

"Good." _If_ that _can't protect our crops, then I don't know what will._ Moana deflected the niggling certainty that it would not be enough. _The only other thing I can think of would be to enclose the grove, but figuring out how to build such a structure would take time we don't have._

"The only real complaint so far besides what a slave driver you are–"

Moana rolled her eyes. While the approaching famine could be hidden, everyone was well aware that they were combating a threat to their food supply and was willing to put in the work.

"–is that it'll be a bit of a slog to walk from the grove to the village weighed down with a harvest."

"Our people can suffer sore feet and a little extra walking each day. Worst case scenario, we let the grove grow wild for our children to spoil their appetite in ten years from now and laugh about what a waste of time it all was. If nothing else, I've always felt uneasy with so many of our crops growing in one place. This is the perfect excuse for me to fix that, and we'll have more room to build once this is all over."

Of course, that was presuming anyone was still alive at that point. Not that Moana would speak a word of her fears to anyone if she could help it, and even then, even should the worst come to pass, even if she failed, she would still be wary about broaching the subject. No one wanted to hear their chief predicting the slow starvation of her people. The least she could do then was to let her people die with peace of mind.

Unable to help herself, Moana glanced outward toward the ocean. Near sea level as she was, it lay hidden from her sight behind a thick wall of flora, but she knew it was there. It was always there. It was a constant presence in her mind these days. The worst problem of all this, what she feared most, was that Motunui's troubles were not domestic in origin.

On that, Moana had kept her peace, telling no one – not her dad, not her mom, not Hine, _no one_. With her grandmother no longer among them, the self-proclaimed position of village crazy lady lay vacant. As much as she loved the woman, she would rather not take up that esteemed role.

Even so, if life on Motunui grew any more endangered, if none of Moana's plans worked, if escape proved to be their only recourse, it might be time to break her silence. At that point, it could hardly make the future any less bleak.

"Moana!"

"Argh!" Moana jumped away from Hine. She brought up a hand to massage her poor, abused ear.

"About time you responded. You've been staring at nothing for forever now."

Moana grumbled a very half-hearted apology while shaking off her darkening thoughts. "Look, Hine, just keep everyone calm and on task for now. We'll make it through this so long as we all work together."

"Alright. Where should I send people if they need you?"

"Urgh, nowhere. I need to have a frank conversation with my dad."

With an amused snort, Hine placed a hand on Moana's shoulder. "Good luck with that."

"I'm sure it'll be fine. Heh. If nothing else, I'll pull rank on him."

Hine traded smirks with Moana as she shook her head. "I'll plan to be on the far side of Motunui when you do that."

"Thanks for the support, friend," said Moana sarcastically. "Spread the word that there will be a council meeting tomorrow night, will you?"

"Sure thing, Chief."

With that, Moana departed Hine's company to seek her father's. The trip across the island was peaceful enough, although every other person she met along the path stopped her to ask one question or another. It was well past midday when she finally found her target. He was busy directing work within the nursery adjacent to the new grove still under construction.

There Moana paused a moment to watch her father. He called for someone to run to the village to find out what was delaying the delivery of the next tree before picking up a shovel himself to join in the work. A small smile sneaked its way onto Moana's face. He may have thought this was completely overkill and a waste of time and effort, not to mention untraditional, but there was no question that he put his all into the task in full support of her in public once a course of action was decided upon.

"Hey, Dad," Moana said. It was mere moments before she found herself swept up into a tight hug.

"Moana!" her father, Tui, said, bursting with far too much energy for his age. "You missed lunch with Sina and me."

"I know," Moana grunted, her lungs protesting their rough treatment.

"So what brings you here? Change of plans? Or has something happened in the village?"

Moana shook her head, only to stop halfway. "Yes to both, in a sense. We need to talk."

Those four little words sapped Tui of his exuberance, sadly. He excused himself for a moment to find Sina among the crowd and exchange a few words. Once they were done, they kissed, and he returned to Moana. Then together, the two set out down the path toward the village. On the way out, Moana filched a torch from the nursery's supply and lit it, drawing a raised eyebrow from Tui. She waved off the unasked question of why.

"So, Moana, is this a chief and councilman sort of discussion?"

"It is," Moana replied. She looked to Tui as they walked and waited until she had eye contact to continue. This was going to be unpleasant for both of them, but it had to be done. To make sure there would be no misunderstanding, she said, "I expect you to behave like a reasonable adult as we discuss this."

That combined with the path Moana had steered them down caused Tui to stop dead in his tracks as recognition flashed in his eyes. He opened his mouth, only to be cut off before he could say a word.

"Tui, as a member of the council, you and your chief will have a civil conversation." That was a fact, not a request, and Moana phrased it as such. It was her next words, however, that left him white-faced and without an argument. More gently, she said, "I'm aware of what happened to you."

Moana ignored the nearly inaudible gasp of, "Who?" Her father would surely have his suspicions, but she would not sell out her mother on this. Sina had given reason and clarity to Tui's almost obsessive desire to keep her on dry land, something she had desperately needed. Without that information, Moana suspected she might have grown frustrated enough to sail off on her own without a second thought, which would certainly have ended in disaster.

With her free hand, Moana reached out and patted Tui's arm in what she hoped he would find a supportive manner. Outside her role as his daughter, without crossing back over that line, it was all she could think to do for him. "You have my condolences for your loss and your trauma. I can only imagine how devastated I would be to lose Hine to my own eagerness and stubbornness. But our people require no less than the best of us right now. You are perfectly capable of at least entertaining ideas you do not agree with."

The two stared at one another for what felt like an eternity to Moana. She broke eye contact first, resuming her pace forward. When her father fell into step beside her, she had to suppress the urge to cry her victory to the heavens. As much as she wanted to run off and dance herself silly in glee, she was the chief right now and had to act like it. To do otherwise would just reduce this to yet another infamous father–daughter row to gossip about over dinner.

Moana stepped through the foliage hiding Motunui's one and only natural cave. Ever since her grandmother, Tala, had guided her here years ago, she had kept the entrance free of obstructions and cleared the tunnel of the stray rocks and slippery pebbles that had once made for treacherous terrain.

"This place should be sealed off, Moana."

Moana glanced over her shoulder back at Tui and observed his frown, trying to decide what exactly his tone had meant. Getting nothing, she gave him a dry laugh. "I've held my tongue about our heritage out of respect for your wishes, but I would not deny anyone the knowledge held within should they find it. Of all people, I'm sure you would agree that it's better to learn how to sail and never need it than to find yourself wanting when the time comes." It was a low blow, but it was the truth.

Without waiting for a response, Moana handed off her torch to Tui as they emerged into the main cavern within which resided dozens of boats ranging all over in size and encircling a central cove. Nearest to the water sat a great, beautiful ship capable of holding dozens of people and standing taller, wider, _and_ longer than any tree. She made her way straight to it, bypassing several smaller vessels no more than thrice her own height.

A quick glance over Moana's shoulder revealed that Tui had stuck to the entrance with torch in hand, almost as if he believed the reduced vision would stop her. But then that might be ascribing too much ill-intent to him. Still, what he ultimately did with that torch, she was sure, would set the tone of their personal and political relationship for the rest of their lives.

Of course, if Tui _did_ try to set fire to the canoes in a fit of childish pique or whatnot, he would be in for disappointment. Each and every boat in this cavern was _far_ too well preserved for how long they _must_ have been left unattended. Entering into the cove through the waterfall to the open sea with all the materials to maintain these ships _and_ doing so unnoticed was unnecessarily dangerous, and before Moana had knocked them down, the stones sealing off the overland entrance had been fully and completely covered in moss, suggesting they themselves had also been undisturbed for a long time.

At the time and with her grandmother's cryptic nonsense guiding her, Moana could only conclude that some magic had preserved and reinforced these boats. And she _had_ verified that, much to her surprise. Indeed, her ancestors had either had the favour of the gods or had possessed amazing skills of their own. The wood, the ropes, the sails, everything here was both fireproof and otherwise very difficult to damage, although not impossible.

There was also the drum, if one wanted to do things the easy way. Moana climbed aboard the largest of the ships arrayed before her. Once atop it, she casually delivered a rap-a-tap to the drum anchored to the deck, causing every torch in the room to burst into flame at once, bathing the entire room in light.

Moana smirked as she caught the expression on her father's face. Obviously, _he_ had never bothered to bang the drum, and that was under the assumption he had ever even come here before.

Without a thought, having done the same at least a hundred times already, Moana leapt from the deck and fell a little more than twice her height to land in front of Tui. One of these days, she knew her mother would say, she would slip and land on her head, but today was once more not that day.

Still grinning, Moana walked past her father with her hands held behind her back. As she did so and with a small skip to her step, she said, "Don't worry. I shrieked too the first time. I won't tell."

That broke Tui out of his shock. He twisted in place to follow Moana with his eyes for a few moments before glancing around at the numerous new light sources.

"I think the torches are tied to the drum," Moana casually commented, slowing to a swaying gait behind him. "I once removed one from the cave without extinguishing them. It went out halfway down the tunnel." Shrugging, she added, "We've never had a shortage of torches anyway, so I never bothered to find out."

Tui closed his eyes and took a deep breath, slowly in and even slower out. Once done, he extinguished the non-magical torch in his hand and found a nice rock to collapse on both nearby and as far away from the boats as could be reasonably expected. He gestured for her to take another somewhat nearby.

"Here we are," Tui said, stating the obvious and apparently still processing that Tala, his own mother, was very definitely not crazy – not completely, anyway. While there was never any doubt that he believed her stories had some truth to them, their setting had always been long ago and far away, not _here_ and _now_.

"Yep. Here we are. And I'm sure you're expecting me to propose something radical like voyaging to a new island."

"The thought had crossed my mind."

In all honesty, Moana had a hard time deciding whether she should be offended or not. The idea was exciting to contemplate, certainly, and it _did_ hold a place in her mind as her plan of last resort, but no more. That her primary goals _also_ served to prepare her people for an extended voyage was merely a side benefit, if perhaps one that she would embrace and encourage.

"I'm not a child anymore," Moana said, careful _not_ to sound like a petulant child as she did so. "I realize how impractical that would be. Disregarding that we would have to rebuild our entire way of life from nothing _and_ assuming that we could find an uninhabited island capable of supporting the entirety of our people, the truth is we would never make it in time to matter." _Not unless we're desperate._ "No one on Motunui has true sailing experience, and although Hine understands a bit about wayfinding, I'm the only one who knows as little as _how_ to sail the ocean. Our problems will not wait two years for us to develop all the skills we would need to embark upon such a large undertaking."

"That's surprisingly well-reasoned for you."

Moana rolled her eyes. "Being given responsibility does that to a girl."

For the first time since Moana had led him from the nursery, Tui smiled, and warmly, even, at that. "What does our chief have planned, then?"

"I'm not sure yet. I was hoping one of my councilmen would provide me with council." Moana waited until she got a nod from Tui. "I hope we can both agree that we are in a crisis."

Tui hesitated for a moment before asking, "Are things truly that bad?"

"We have children who have never tasted fish." Even the village's stock of salted and preserved fish had been all but exhausted. What little was left Moana had saved for anyone who fell ill.

After a few grumbled curses, Tui asked, "Who knows?"

"Hine, myself, and now you. She and I haven't been able to hide everything completely, of course. Everyone knows _something_ is happening. But we've managed to quell any serious worries so far."

"And how much longer will that last?"

At the rate they were losing crops and burning through their stores, Moana knew that without a significant change, they would be in serious trouble before the end of the year. Rationing what they had, they might last until the end of the next year. Moana worried a hand along her forehead and through her hair as she settled on a few rough estimates. "We have perhaps half a year before we would have to take drastic measures. In half that time, we _must_ have at least a short-term solution planned if we want to continue living even half as well as we have."

Unfortunately, Tui was Moana's father and both knew her tells and could read her expression frustratingly often. "How long has this been going on?"

"That's not important," Moana said, waving the question away because she _did not_ want to answer that. Any honest answer would call forth several questions she refused to provide answers for. "What I _want_ to do in the short-term is to organize fishing trips beyond the reef." She held up a hand to forestall the response that was already on Tui's lips. "Before I analyze the risks and benefits, I need you to put aside your usual opinions and answer me honestly. Do you think it's _possible_ – not necessarily worthwhile, but _possible_ – for this to provide for our people, or are my own desires blinding me?"

For once in Moana's life, her father actually stopped to seriously consider venturing beyond the reef. The struggle inside his mind to be objective on the matter revealed itself through the varying of his expression, which flashed through no small number of grimaces. Finally, he said, "I believe that _if_ there are fish left in the ocean, they are not near Motunui's shores. Nor would we fall ill if our diet turned exclusively to whatever we might find in the water."

That was not a proper answer. Tui had dodged the question, and they both knew it. Still, Moana would take an implied yes; that was more than she had expected.

"Thank you for trying," Moana said. As much as she wanted to hug Tui for it, however, they were not here as family. There yet remained much to discuss. "Now as I mentioned before, I don't intend to simply throw our people on this beauty" – she gestured up at the largest boat in the cavern, and what a beauty it was – "and tell them good luck. Before I make any final public commitment, I intend to see if it can be done myself."

"Moana–"

"I'm the only one who knows how to sail properly, I refuse to place anyone less experienced in danger to test my plan, and _time is a factor_."

"Moana, your people need you _here_. You cannot risk your own life on this. We can't have you vanishing for days at a time. My time as chief is over." To be fair, in any other circumstances, that would have been a good argument. It was cold and heartless, but it was better to risk a farmer, or a weaver, or a fisher than a chief, whose time and life were much more valuable. But there was an obvious response here and now.

"The greater danger comes from delay. This _cannot_ _wait_." Moana paused a moment to let her frustrations settle before they could take root. They were brushing along their old, well-trodden arguments on the merits of sailing – and of _her_ sailing in particular. Now was not the time to dredge up that history. Now was the time for cold, hard logic. And besides, she herself was the one who had insisted that this would be a civil conversation.

"I don't intend on being reckless about this," Moana said. "I'm not going to jump straight into a full voyage on my very first trip. My plan is to take out one of the smaller seaworthy canoes here and sail about Motunui to practice. Then once I'm ready, I'll make a few short journeys beyond the reef and later into the open ocean, leaving instructions with Hine in my absence. I trust her to handle any emergencies that might come up. If all goes well, I'll see if I can catch us a feast after that.

"I will, of course, have a more concrete plan when I present this to the council proper, including what routes I'll take, what resources I'll take, and why. Those are minor details to quibble about, though. I'm asking you now not as your daughter, or as a woman of Motunui, but as your chief. Would you be willing to support this attempt to save our people? To see them well-provided-for? To save our home?"

Tui clamped his jaw shut, his face at war with itself as too many expressions fought for dominance. It was cruel of her to do so, but Moana had chosen her words carefully to echo the very same sentiments her father had always given for not venturing out into the ocean. Trapped between his concern for his family and his duty to his people as he was, any decision would cost him something.

"You're putting me in an impossible position, Moana." That was the closest she had ever heard Tui come to begging, but it was no good. There was too much at risk to cave to such sentiments, a fact she had begrudgingly come to accept since becoming chief.

"I know. For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

Collapsing in on himself, Tui brought his hands together and rested his forehead atop them, looking the perfect image of a broken man. Moana unconsciously stepped forward before catching herself and freezing there in indecision. Cursing her own pride, she kept herself from saying a word and left her councilman to his own thoughts the way a proper chief would. She knew perfectly well which decision _she_ would reach on the matter. With her argument given, she had to step back and leave him unbiased to provide his own council, rather than hers.

Silently, or as near as she could be, Moana stole away from the cavern and down the unlit tunnel back outside. She doubted that her presence would in any way help Tui reach _a_ decision, so she chose instead to simply remove herself from the equation. There was someone who belonged there right now far more anyway.

Once more in the nursery after walking over the greater part of the island, Moana picked up another torch to avoid forgetting it later. She then tracked down her new target within moments, approaching from behind.

"Good afternoon, Moana."

Moana jumped in surprise before quickly schooling her features. "Hi, Mom," she said, wrapping herself over the woman in question's shoulders in a hug. "When are you going to tell me how you do that?"

"When you have a daughter who jumps at every opportunity to cause trouble, you won't need me to."

Blushing, Moana detached herself from Sina. "I was never that bad."

"You still are, dear," Sina said, turning about with a smug grin on her face. "So how have you gotten on with your father today?"

Moana gestured for Sina to follow her, and they slowly made their way away from everyone else. Quietly, she said, "I'm sure when you see him that he'll tell you Motunui is ruled over by a cruel witch with a heart of stone."

"That bad?"

"He could use a friendly ear and a cool head right now."

Sina sighed in resignation and forced a smile back onto her face. "Where is he?"

"I'll show you to him." As it was a rather unlikely prospect that Tui had ever taken his wife to see their ancestors' boats, nor did Moana think he would have even mentioned them, it would be easier for everyone if she just led Sina there herself. "And I'll take over here after I do, so you two take as long as you need, alright?"

After Sina agreed, Moana lit the torch in her hand, and they were off. Along the way, she fended off her mother's questions about what had happened, citing that it would be more appropriate for Tui to answer them himself instead. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she had recruited her mother to team up against him.

"Here we are," Moana said, handing off the torch. At her mother's skeptical look, she pulled back the foliage obscuring the cave entrance.

Surprised, Sina asked, "When did this get here?"

"It's always been here, Mom. I unsealed it is all." Continuing before Sina could ask any questions, Moana said, "I expect Dad will still be at the end of the tunnel. Don't worry. You can't get lost."

After a pause, Sina accepted the dismissal for what it was and stepped inside. Once she was gone and out of hearing range, Moana collapsed onto the ground and leaned back against the mountain face.

"Well," Moana mumbled to herself, "here's hoping for the best." If all went well, and that was a big if, the loudest voice against her plans would be turned to a supporter. If not, well, Tui was but one voice among many, even if his was one she cared about more than the others.

 _Even if this turns into a protracted debate, we'll be okay. If it comes to it, if we all must set sail, I've acted early enough to give us plenty of time to at least have a chance. I've already done everything I can on Motunui. They'll see that._

Moana held up her right hand so that the back of it faced her. The tattooed sign of Te Fiti stared back at her, embellished to swirl past her wrist and down her arm in elaborate waves reminiscent of the ocean breaking upon the reef.

"Gramma, I could really use your advice."

Letting her hand fall, Moana turned her gaze out toward the ocean. No one else could see it. No one else had noticed it creeping toward them. It was terrifying, maddening, and agonizingly slow all at once. Beneath the water, no longer far from shore, the ground was pure pitch-black. Nothing grew there. No animal would go near it. And every time Moana swam out to observe it up close, the darkness had grown slightly closer than before.

All that had saved Moana from outright panic was that the island itself had been and _had remained_ untouched, if not unaffected. The reef surrounding the island had been affected, including the parts of it above sea level, but not the island, not Motunui. For reasons unknown, the encroaching death had yet to assault the island itself.

Moana was under no delusion that the current state of affairs would last forever, not unless she herself was simply delusional and hallucinating. That was always possible. Gramma had taken the title of village crazy woman for herself for a reason, after all.

Or maybe someone somewhere else on their own voyage in their own story would save the world. Tala had always insisted that someday, _someone_ would discover the Heart of Te Fiti, sail off to find the demigod Maui, and ensure the heart was returned to its proper place.

But a chief was not allowed to indulge in such wishful thinking. Moana had to protect her people, and that meant preparing for and assuming the worst. If nothing else, if they were stubborn enough to refuse to leave Motunui behind when the worst came and they found a new chief, they could survive by bringing food back from beyond the island's coast. Moana would ensure they had all the necessary skills by then.

The longer Moana gazed out into the blackness slowly engulfing the ocean, the more she worried about what _other_ skills her people might need if they stayed, skills they _did not_ _have_.

"Motunui is dying. We don't have time to wait for a destined hero, Gramma. What am I supposed to do?"


	2. Arguing Over First Principles

_First Leg - A World Without Gods  
From Moana's Log - Arguing Over First Principles_

Moana spun on the ball of her foot, turning in place easily with the aid of a small, smooth divot worn into the ground. She made it two steps forward before glancing down the path toward the slowly gathering crowd at the end, only to whip her gaze back in front of her. One step, another, a third, and then she spun in place.

"Will you stop that already?" Hine asked, exasperated.

"Don't you think I've tried? I've practically worn a canal into the ground!"

Hine let out a sigh that could only be described as disgruntled. "You'll do fine, Moana. You've spoken to the council a hundred times before, and you usually get your way."

"I have _a reputation_ , Hine. The moment I so much as passingly _mention_ boats, or sailing, or the ocean, or _anything_ , you know what's going to happen."

"Yes, yes," Hine said, rolling her eyes. "You know, I don't know if you've noticed, but people listen to you when you talk."

"Never about this."

"Just relax, already. You win practically every debate you start."

"But they've never been about anything actually important before!"

"Oh?" Chuckling darkly, Hine said, "I'll just go tell everyone that the work you've had them doing isn't important, then." Moana was on top of her before she could get to her feet, pushing her back down onto the ground by the shoulders.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it." And then Moana returned to pacing.

"You do realise that if you act like this at your meeting, they'll think you're just making excuses to get out on the ocean, right? They watched you grow up and are well aware of what you'd really rather be doing with your life."

Moana gasped, the sarcasm leaking out of her almost thick enough to touch. "Really? Oh, wait. They remind me of that every time I mention that water is wet." She glared at Hine, who dared to laugh at her distress.

"You'll be fine, Moana. You really will. It's hard to argue with 'obey me or starve'."

 _Oh, yes, I'm sure that would go over so well._ "I told my dad about that only because he would dig in his heels and resist every argument I gave and every proposal I made otherwise. The last thing I want is Motunui to have starvation hanging over its head. The last time our village had a really bad famine, we ended up fighting each other over food, sometimes to the death."

Hine rolled her eyes, thus demonstrating just how much she was underestimating the seriousness of the situation. "You're such a pessimist."

Just for the moment, Moana allowed herself to reply in jest. "It's the lei. It's cursed."

"See! That's the Moana I know. Now all you have to do is go up there and tell the council what's what. If they don't like it, then too bad for them."

"Urgh. Hine, just because I _can_ ignore their decisions doesn't mean that I _should_. They can make life _very_ difficult for me. You don't like them, and I don't like them, but that's because we work with them – or because we work despite them, as the case may sometimes be. That's us. Everyone else, though, respects them and listens to them, too, not just me."

Quirking her brows, Hine said, "I'm telling your dad you said you don't like him."

Moana slapped a hand across her face. Hine then took advantage of her momentary lack of vision to spin her by the shoulders, pushing her ever closer toward the gathering council thereafter with every forced step.

"Just remember why it is you're doing all this, and you'll get your way. You're stubborn like that. You'll see. As soon as you open your mouth, you'll forget you were ever nervous, and the moment someone irritates you, you'll be completely focused." With those last parting words, Hine gave Moana one final shove forward before saying goodbye and vanishing into the night.

Sighing and noticing that most of the council had already gathered off in the distance, Moana forced herself forward. All the way she mumbled to herself that reason Hine had mentioned as if it were her own personal mantra. "Motunui is the people, not the land. They must have the tools necessary to survive. The needs and prosperity of my people outweigh any other consideration."

By the time Moana's slowing steps had brought her to her destination, the large, wall-less building in which her grandmother had once told her and the other then children of Motunui stories, the entire council had gathered – as had their audience.

 _Joy. Why do these things have to be public?_ Moana sighed inwardly. _At least there are slightly fewer bystanders tonight. Slightly._ That said, at least half the village had to be here.

One by one, Moana glanced over the council members to get a feel for their mood – and vote – tonight. Although he hid it very well, Tui looked resigned and defeated. Unfortunate though it was, she hoped that meant she could count on at least his neutrality in the coming meeting. Even the mere act of his _not rejecting_ her plans should give her a swell of support among those she suspected would be otherwise undecided.

Currently speaking with Tui was Rua, his brother-in-law and, unfortunately, Moana's uncle. _I swear, if that man tries to use this to set me up with his dolt of a son_ again _, I'm going to toss him into the ocean._ Shaking her head, Moana moved on. Rua rarely spoke during their meetings and almost always voted with Tui on matters and so was of a lesser concern.

 _Ah, Areta, Aihe, and Arana. No surprise that they all look tired. Those three should really retire and let someone younger take their position, preferably people not all from one family again. Still, if this goes on long, all three will vote to maintain the status quo just to get to bed. That's not ideal, but it might be worse if they were wide awake. They've never been my biggest fans._

The next to catch Moana's eye was Ngaio, who was already inside, seated, and waiting patiently for everyone to stop wasting her time, as she would put it. She looked as grumpy as usual at these meetings, but outside of them, Moana considered the short-haired, older woman her own personal goddess. If Hine was Moana's right hand, then Ngaio was the brain. She attacked any problem that caught her interest with a fervour no one could match and would vote for anything that would give her an intellectual challenge. There was no doubt she would literally be salivating when Moana asked her to find a good way to map the sea; the ocean was a little larger than Motunui.

It was frustrating, really. While Moana was grateful that her ancestors had left instructions on how to sail and navigate – if vague ones that required interpretation and hands-on experience – she would have been so much _more_ grateful if they had _also_ left _directions_. Even something as simple as 'sail towards these stars' would have been _immensely_ helpful. If only one of them had bothered to think, "Hey, maybe we'll need to sail again one day. Maybe we should keep a record of where other islands are." That would have saved Moana so much _time_ , a courtesy _she_ intended to perform for _her_ people's descendants.

That familiar, creeping sense of doom Moana felt when she looked at the ocean poked at her mind again like an insert continually finding cracks in her confidence, but she batted it aside. They had plenty of time. She had plenty of time.

Standing in a group off to the side were Hare, Marama, Marika, and Ropata. Marika had taken over as the village storyteller after Moana's grandmother had passed on, often placing more emphasis on the importance of tradition than Moana would prefer Motunui's children be exposed to, rather than the traditions themselves. _Sailing the ocean? I'd be better off asking her to jump off a cliff to get her to abstain._

Marama and Ropata had both been fishermen when they were younger and had loved every moment of it. Their vote could go either way. The ocean was new and potentially very dangerous, putting the lives of anyone sent out into it at risk. On the other hand, Moana had a feeling their opinion would be that if the fish refused to come to Motunui, Motunui should go to the fish.

And then there was Hare, who loathed Moana. "An airheaded brat who would rather be gallivanting about in the water should never have been made chief," he had once said. Even so, he served surprisingly well at helping her refine her plans and ideas, not that she would ever tell him that. Although, her deliberately prodding him at council meetings on occasion might have made him suspicious he was being unintentionally helpful – the horror! That said, he was a practical man who had never deliberately undermined her authority and who would bend to a well-reasoned argument.

Or he would after tearing it to pieces and remaking it stronger and in his own image, that was.

Finally, there were the true airheads, who as usual stood as far away from Hare as could be considered inoffensive. If she possessed the authority to do so, Moana would have tossed Haeata and Hauku out of the council the moment she met the women, both literally and figuratively. That would be the _one_ thing she and Hare would agree on wholeheartedly and without debate. But worse, they were gossips. If the council wanted to discuss something in private as a group, the usual tactic was to stall until their audience had all gone to sleep. With those two, though, one never knew how long they would – or _could_ – keep their tongues from wagging.

 _Well, let's get started._ "Everyone!" Moana called out, drawing both the crowd's attention and their silence. "Now that we're all gathered, let's sit down and begin this council session."

While the audience was regulated to the surrounding area of the meeting house, the twelve council members made themselves comfortable at their usual places on the floor, forming a circle in the very middle of the room. As was tradition, Moana was left with the most inland position, thus facing the sea. From it, she had a full and unobstructed view of one of the darkest parts of the ocean near Motunui. At least there was a new moon tonight. Moana could barely see past the village's shores. With any luck, that would be enough for her not to become distracted.

"For those of you not aware," Moana said, tearing her gaze back to those gathered around her, "I've called this meeting to address the village's fishing problems."

"What's to address? The problem is you have our fishermen gardening."

Moana spared the old man only the slightest of glances. "Which, of course, Arana, is because they have nothing better to do. I have Ropata's boys" – she sent a nod the man's way, receiving a proud smile in return – "spend their days paddling about the coast to see if things improve, but there are simply no fish to be found."

Arana looked like he wanted to say something to that, but a warning frown from Ropata silenced him. Sometimes it paid to have doting fathers on the council. No one would put forth any inane arguments suggesting his sons were incompetent in his presence.

"Now if you haven't noticed, there's been a significant decrease in the plant life along our coast, especially around the reef." _Where 'a significant decrease' means everything is gone except the dead coral._ "Seeing as this coincides with the emergence of a strange disease afflicting our crops near the village, I would find it odd if the two weren't related." _Which is technically true, if misleading._

Marama, who like Ropata was recognised as an expert on all things fish, added his own opinion, earning Moana's silent gratitude. It was always so much better when other people picked up on, agreed with, and made her arguments for her. "And if there's nothing for the little fish to eat, they either die or find better waters, leaving the fish _we_ catch with nothing to eat. I don't suppose you and Ngaio have mysteriously and suddenly learnt how to farm underwater, have you?"

Immediately, Moana shook her head at Ngaio, heading off that challenge before it could take root in the woman's mind. Ngaio caught on just as fast, and her face warped into a hungry look begging for whatever far more interesting project she was no doubt now certain Moana had for her.

"I would imagine it's a lot like growing plants on land, but you have to hold your breath longer." That drew a few laughs from the half of the room that both had a sense of humour and liked her. Once they were done, Moana continued, "If we had a reasonable number of live fish, we could try to breed them the way we would pigs and poultry."

"Requiring _more_ labour," Areta said.

Aihe then added, "Not to mention it's something we've never done before."

Rather than open the floor to arguing about tradition or the benefits of experimentation, at least not yet, Moana immediately jumped on those complaints. "Neither of which is relevant, because we don't have the required fish to make the attempt." _But it's something to think about. I'll ask Ngaio to look into it when she has a bit of spare time. It can't be very hard compared to how beneficial developing fish husbandry would be. Probably._

Annoyingly and unfortunately, Hare decided it was time for him to speak up. Directly across from Moana, his disapproving expression made it only too clear what he was about to say. " _None_ of this is relevant. Our chief is obviously just trying to justify indulging in her daydreams under the guise of fishing. May we skip the theatrics?"

Moana was only partially successful in biting back her sigh. She had known going into this that she would have to deal with that exact accusation, although she _had_ hoped for a little more time before she had to confront it.

Before Moana could say a word in her own defence, Marika said, "What! Tui, will you learn to control your daughter already? I don't care what she does in private, but this is an embarrassment."

Calmly, yet sharply, Tui replied, "The far greater embarrassment is that you think I didn't teach her well enough to be our chief before stepping down."

Marika recoiled as if slapped. More importantly, except for the two airheads, no one missed that he said nothing whatsoever about Moana's plan, a plan which _she_ still had yet to even suggest.

"Enough!" Now that Moana had the council's attention back and their audience silent, she pushed down any insults of her own. If her council wanted her to be the only adult here, so much the better for her. "Now then, fish is a staple of our diet. This is an issue we must address. Ropata, if you would, could you tell us how long you think it would take for the plant life in our coast to regrow on its own?"

Roptata turned to Marama next to him, and the two held a whispered conversation between them. As they did, Moana counted the number of facial expressions that had already decided to vote against anything she suggested. Marika's was among them, of course, as were Arana's, Areta's, and Aihe's, unsurprisingly. Hare was as churlish and unreadable as always, but everyone else looked at least open to discussion. Moana caught Tui's eyes and mouthed, "Thank you," to him.

Done with his conversation, Ropata gave his report. "Under ideal conditions, less than a year. But without knowing what's happening to the plants–" He shrugged. "We'll have to wait it out. Arana, how long does an outbreak of a disease last with land plants?"

"As long as it takes to uproot the afflicted plants and burn them."

Taking the answer for what it was, Ropata turned to Moana and said, "I don't know, then. It'll take at least a year for both the plants and fish to return, but if I were to guess, I'd plan on it taking a lot longer than that. Three or four years, maybe?"

Having already planned on that situation _never_ resolving itself, at least not in her lifetime, Moana took the news with far more grace than most. "Thank you. Now personally, I enjoy yams, and coconuts, and bananas, and eggs, but I wouldn't want to subsist on them. Pork and poultry are delectable, but their production is very resource intensive. As I said before, fish is a staple of our diet that we need returned to us. It accounts for approximately half of what we traditionally eat." Glaring at Hare, she then said, "Now that the theatrics are over, yes, the _obvious_ response is to sail further out–"

The rising chorus of objections from both council members and the audience drowned out the rest of what Moana had wanted to say – not unexpected, but still frustrating.

Moana took a deep breath in. "Be silent!" And that was exactly what she got: silence. With every eye on her, she was unable to help a small smirk forming on her face. In all honesty, she had expected to be coughing right now after that. "Hare, since you haven't said a word, why don't you go first?"

"Bah! I am not a fish, and I will not take your bait. I will not debate without time to gather my thoughts. Find someone else to be your straw man, clever fool."

Frowning for a moment, Moana eventually decided that Hare's words were entirely accurate, minus the part about her being a fool. Chuckling, she turned to Ropata and Marama on her right. "Would you two like to raise objections as fishermen, or would you like me to present my _whole_ argument while everyone _listens_?"

The two looked to each other before Marama spoke. "There are a few things we would like addressed before you continue any further."

"Feel free to ask, then."

"Well, I think I speak for both of us when I say the challenge would be exciting." Ropata nodded in agreement. "But it's always the case that danger is exciting. The waters beyond the reef have historically not been kind to those who choose to venture into them…"

Most everyone's eyes shifted slightly from Moana to Tui on her immediate right, although she made a point of _not_ doing so. She mumbled an apology to him before responding, knowing that when she was done, everyone would assume she had uttered some obscenity. "I'm well aware of what happens when a headstrong girl heads off into the sea without ever having so much as learnt what a sheet is. I wrecked a boat when I was sixteen, and Tala told me to, and I quote, 'blame it on the pig'."

Moana ignored Tui pinching the bridge of his nose, muttering what she thought was, "That explains so much."

"It's the rope used to control the sail, by the way."

"Are we to presume you've been making successful voyages, then?" Marama asked.

"Not as such, no. I can only imagine the deafening amount of flak you all would give me if I put myself in danger without permission or even informing you. That said, I have a strategy mapped out in some detail for gaining the necessary experience with minimal risk. Those are details we can quibble about later if we proceed, however. The main problem previous attempts have had is that the canoes we use for fishing aren't meant to endure the rigours of ocean travel."

Naturally, most everyone turned to look at Ngaio, who was frowning and glaring at Moana, silently accusing Moana of holding out on her.

Answering the unasked question, Moana said, "Yes, I do happen to have seaworthy ship in my possession. I won't be asking for the resources or labour to build one. Sorry, Ngaio. I have something to make it up to you later."

Her glare lasted a moment longer as she searched Moana for any sign of deceit. Finding none, because Moana really did have something for her, Ngaio nodded and went back to whatever it was she thought about when she was bored – probably trying to deduce what project Moana had for her.

Although Marama looked sceptical, he did take Moana at her word. "Another issue, then. I wouldn't even know where to begin with deep sea fishing. Our waters are no deeper than two or three men anywhere."

"Admittedly, that would be part of the learning process. I have a few ideas that I think will work but need to be tested." Passing off the mysterious acquisition of a better boat without too many questions being asked was already going to be a difficult task. Moana refused to add where she obtained all the tools necessary for ocean fishing to the list of questions and complicate matters further, at least not right now. Openly proclaiming that their ancestors were voyagers would start a firestorm that would end any semblance of order this meeting possessed. She knew someday she would eventually have to, though, considering she and Tui _would not_ be able to move the larger ships out of storage alone.

 _Although, if Marika starts blathering on about tradition, it would be_ so _amusing to drop our heritage on her. I can just imagine the look on her face the moment she realises I'm trying to revive old traditions._

It was only with a great effort that she shoved that thought and the encroaching smirk aside. Instead, Moana said, "I'm not terribly worried about the matter, though. Terns fly out to sea every day and come back either fed or with fish. I don't imagine they can dive much deeper than we can, so there must be fish near the surface out on the open ocean, too."

After exchanging a few words with Ropata, Marama said, "We'll need to see your ship and plans, but otherwise neither of us have any further concerns at the moment."

Moana nodded, silently crying her victory at having won at least two people over. "Right, then. That covers most of my argument for ocean sailing, actually. In summary, our people need fish for the normal and healthy functioning of our society. That is self-evident. There are no fish nearby, but there will be elsewhere. I already have everything ready and waiting to begin sailing; I won't be drawing resources that could be allocated elsewhere. And lastly, I've done my best to minimise the risk while learning, both for my test subject and even more so thereafter with further students as we work out the problems.

"There is, however, one other important point to make. Once we have the ability, _we won't lose it_. We can only lose it if we choose to forget it." _Again,_ Moana added in her head. "Even after our waters return to normal, we will still have the option to fish elsewhere. That would make it _much_ easier to manage the local population and thus to avoid overfishing, which I know has been a problem at times in our past. It would also provide access to a greater variety of fish, including making us less dependant on luck to catch such delicacies as shark and ray."

Moana silently scoffed at how much more the thought of delicious fish affected her council members than a well-reasoned argument. Even Ngaio had a bit of a glassy-eyed look about her, although one could never be sure what was going on in her head. For all Moana knew, she might be dreaming of domesticating and riding a manta ray rather than eating it.

Still, at least that probably got the two airheads on her side. Moana could live with debasing her intellectual integrity if it got her the votes needed to save her people. _The airheads, Ropata and Marama, Ngaio – that's nearly all the votes I need. Dad and Uncle Rua are a wild card. An abstain from both or an aye from either would be enough. I'd feel better if I could get a yes from Hare, though._

Before Moana could poke the sleeping dragon, Marika spoke. "Tui, you've been awfully quiet. What's your opinion on…Chief Moana's…idea." No doubt remembering the verbal slap from earlier, her voice was more timid than usual, which with her meant she was speaking politely instead of babbling her opinion uncensored to anyone who would listen.

Time passed agonisingly slowly as Tui considered the question. Fidgeting, Moana tucked her right hand beneath her to keep it from doing anything foolish in this context. _Not father and daughter here,_ she reminded herself.

Rather awkwardly into the silence, Marika continued, "Your daughter has little respect for our traditions–"

"If I may," Moana interrupted. "While I do place necessity and practicality over tradition, I don't go out of my way to trample them. I can honestly say I have nothing but the deepest respect for our heritage." Tui, the only other person here who knew the deeper meaning to those words, clearly had no idea what to say or feel about that. Moana silently chuckled at the strange expressions passing over his face.

Marika shook her head, still addressing Tui instead of Moana. Despite herself, Moana found that rather irked her. "You see? She doesn't get it. Every time she changes something, a little more of us dies. She won't be satisfied until she's torn us apart and left shambling husks in her wake. Ocean travel isn't a job. It's a lifestyle. And she wants to takes ours from us; she wants to take our culture, our very identity."

As slanted as Marika's words had been, Moana understood the feelings behind them. It would be impossible for her not to. Sighing to herself, she tried not to dwell on how the culture _she_ so strongly identified with was long since dead and gone. Maybe that made her more willing to give up Motunui's current one, but Marika was mad if she thought that would result in them becoming 'shambling husks'. Motunui was the people, not the culture.

Tui finally gathered himself well enough to speak. "Marika, I know you mean well, but so does Moana. I assure you she always acts in what she feels is in the best interests of Motunui."

"Maybe she should try thinking instead," Aihe said. Moana glared at her and silently promised an unspecified doom if she said a word more. She quickly looked away, looking very uncomfortable. Everyone else simply pretended the remark had never been made.

"You can't tell me you actually support this fool's errand," Marika said, aghast.

"It's…certainly a different direction for us. I don't feel qualified to say any more on the matter."

Stunned, Marika's mouth hug open. To be fair, Moana would be just as surprised had she not been the one to talk Tui into at least entertaining the idea.

"We're not mariners, Tui," Areta said. "We're not explorers. We're not voyagers. We're certainly not pioneers. We never have been."

Moana quietly chuckled at the irony, trying not to draw Areta's attention as she did.

"As Marika said, that's a lifestyle, and certainly not one I'd enjoy, not even in my youth. Who of us would? You'd be gone for days at a time, barely ever seeing your family and friends. With maybe a third of our population missing most days, what would happen to our community? Where would we find time for our celebrations and rites?"

"Scheduling trips around important dates is hardly a difficult problem," Moana said, pulling attention back to herself. Passively forcing her father to argue for her proposal was not on her list of good ideas. "Even when weather conditions are added to the mix, it's not as complicated an issue as you're making it."

Areta frowned, obviously not convinced. There was little hope she ever would be, but Moana hoped no one tentatively on her side would take her pessimism too seriously.

"Perhaps Hare could provide us with a counterargument."

Despite the suddenness of the request, Hare nodded. "Yes, I'm prepared now. Let's first dispel any delusions anyone here may possess. Our chief clearly wishes to be her own test subject and will refuse to take anyone else."

Unsurprisingly, that surprised no one. Shrugging, Moana passed on the opportunity to present even a token denial. She _would_ take someone else if she _absolutely had to_ , but the spirit of Hare's words was true. Besides, no one would believe her.

"For the moment, let's forget that she has destroyed every boat she's been in control of."

Moana bristled at that. " _One_ boat. _One_ crash." She went ignored.

"Our chief _should_ have better things to do with her time than splashing about in the water."

 _I've been working myself to exhaustion and training Hine to stand in for me!_

"She _still_ has no heir for when she dies."

Moana cringed the slightest bit at that, something that, fortunately, only Ngaio noticed, as usual. _I won't_ if _I die,_ Moana silently protested, _but if not Dad, then Hine is the obvious choice. If anyone cares, we're even second cousins._

"And," Hare continued relentlessly, "she has an obsession with the ocean which this plan of hers would only worsen."

 _Eh, that I can't deny._

"That said, I'm sure she was aware of each of those points coming into this meeting and has already taken steps to minimise the impact of the resulting problems."

 _Oh._ "Yes, actually." Sometimes Moana forgot that Hare actually knew she was intelligent – clever fool, indeed.

"That," Hare said, continuing on without missing a beat, "is the full context of our chief's proposal. I admit that I would, under the right circumstances, have no problem telling her to go have fun. These are not normal circumstances, and neither are they especially dire–"

Moana bit her tongue and said nothing to correct Hare.

"–thanks in no small part to our chief."

 _What?_ Moana's thoughts tripped over that, but only for a moment. _No, he'd only compliment me to contrast it with something I'm doing wrong_ now _._

"I confess I found myself impressed by the speed and vigour of her response to the outbreak of disease within our crops. I don't believe any of us were even aware of the problem when she brought her proposal to us."

Moana's expression grew tighter the longer Hare spoke as she struggled not to look behind him at the dark, dead ocean. It had been impossible to miss _that_ approaching; no amount of rationalisation or denial had stopped her mind from planning responses to every disaster that had graced her imagination.

"At first, her plan to develop ocean fishing would seem to be her jumping on another issue we had yet to understand the true extent of. She certainly makes a compelling argument. If nothing else, I'm now resigned to little or no fish in my diet for the foreseeable future.

"However, there are several aspects of this particular plan of hers that she has either failed to consider, has glossed over, or has underestimated in her naivete." Turning to Tui, Hare said, "By which I mean she is young and untested. I fully believe you provided all the knowledge she required but that which no one can give: experience."

"No offence taken," Tui said, and Moana tried hard not to either. She _was_ young; that she could admit, although it helped little. "That _is_ why the council exists. Our chief sets the course while we guide her through the fog and the rocks."

With a nod and a, "Well put," Hare continued from where he left off. "Now let's first examine the claim that no additional resources will need to be allocated for this project beyond our chief's time. Designing a new boat, collecting and consuming the materials for it, building it, and ensuring it won't fall apart would be a massive undertaking. It is certainly true that _in comparison_ , the remaining labour and material costs are marginal at worst. This does not, however, mean they are insubstantial.

"If safety is a true concern of hers, then she will need several spotters capable of rescuing her from a wreck and from drowning." Hare held up a hand against Moana's oncoming protest. "We are _all_ well aware you are an excellent swimmer, but" – Moana swore she _heard_ the smirk in his voice – "safety first."

Not missing a beat, Hare continued, "On that topic, this boat of hers will need maintenance, and likely considerably more than usual as she pushes it to its limits to test both it and herself. That requires raw materials, spinners, weavers, carpenters. If she gives Ngaio free rein to implement her ideas for deep sea fishing, and we all know she will, that will further tie up a random selection of material resources and labour.

"Motunui is already taxed to the limit as far as labour goes. Where do you expect to find more, Chief?"

 _Well, it just so happens that my boat is slightly magical and not prone to damage. Oh, and also Ngaio doesn't actually need to develop those new fishing tools. I already have them and know they'll work. Yes,_ everyone _would believe that._

Moana took a moment to consider how she wanted to deflect the concerns Hare had risen and then jumped right into her rebuttal.

"I didn't think about having anyone on standby ready to rescue me when I planned for safety. The waters are calm enough inside the reef that I paid it no thought, and outside the reef, I would be on my own, anyway. It's a good idea, though; I wouldn't object to anyone watching me practice, especially not if they learnt something from it. And no offence to anyone when I say it, but I imagine we won't be losing much by transferring, say, a few fishermen from 'gardening'" – Moana glared at Arana – "back to what they're good at: working in the water."

Turning back to Hare, Moana said, "As for your other points, I have a reasonable stockpile of materials to make repairs with and can perform many of them myself." While that was vacuously true, she still felt like she was lying through her teeth, and the feeling refused to leave her. "Other than that, I have no answer other than that by the time the labour and materials become necessary, I think things will have slowed down on the island. If not, we could delay until things have once we've reached that point."

Unconvinced, Hare said, "I find it very hard to believe you would be able to put even a temporary end to it once you've begun." There was a general chorus of murmured agreement at that, and Moana had to admit – to herself, at least – that he was probably right.

"Even if you could," Hare continued, "you would have still already burned through time and resources that could have been saved and used elsewhere. Let me be clear. There is a famine approaching. As we've greatly expanded our agricultural efforts, I don't anticipate it being a particularly difficult one – more of an annoyance, really – but we must still exercise caution.

"Now we have, of course, weathered famines before. When one mistake can turn a bad situation into a disaster, it's not time to be flitting away resources experimenting with something new. The benefits of this fishing plan, assuming that it bears results within a time frame to be relevant, are not commensurate with the risk that we will _need_ the resources she consumes in the effort. If we do nothing, we will go a little hungry. If we implement this plan, we further risk starvation. Even if the probability of success is a hundred times more likely than disastrous failure, that's not a risk I would choose to take myself."

Hare paused a moment to take a drink, his voice having grown a little raspy. "In five years, if everything has returned to normal, I might be willing to support this. Right now, however, we should remain cautious. We know that our current practises can see us through a famine. They have before, and they will again. Unless there's something you're not telling us…"

Once more, Moana had to fight off the urge to look behind Hare at the ocean. If this vote failed and if things got worse, _then_ she would risk becoming Motunui's next crazy lady and being forced to step down as chief. If that happened, especially this early when she could still quietly guide them toward survival, _that_ would doom her people.

"Then," Hare continued, "I would rather tolerate a slightly less than full stomach than risk a completely empty one. Like our chief, I agree that fish are necessary for the normal and healthy functioning of our society. That is, indeed, self-evident. But unlike her, I disagree that we necessarily _must_ keep ourselves at that level. While desirable, it's not always practical or worth the dangers. We know how to survive all but the worst of famines without risk, so I recommend we do just that. Thank you."

Moana looked around the circle. She determined quickly enough that her firm supporters and firm opposition had almost certainly not changed their opinion, predictably enough. Ropata and Marama both looked pensive, but not terribly swayed. They would most likely vote yes with a few minor halting conditions attached – annoying but tolerable.

That just left Tui and Rua. With them right next to her in the circle, little opportunity had presented itself to observe their reactions, although there were a few hints to be had. Marika was not overly excited, so their final decision must be far from obvious, if even made yet. Deciding not to look and possibly pressure them one way or another, she took control of the conversation back.

"Does anyone have anything further to contribute?" Seeing no one jumping at the opportunity, Moana shrugged her shoulders. "It should be obvious, but I personally think this is worth what little risk it poses. If no one has any objections, let's put the matter to vote." Turning to her immediate left, she said, "Haeata, you first."

* * *

 **A/N:** Well, it's been a while, and it'll probably be a while before this story sees another update. I'm focusing on my HP story for now, but I do find the more adventurous world of Moana very appealing. A few more chapters would get her off Motunui, at which point her half of the story turns into a high seas adventure full of danger and discovery. Ah, maybe someday.


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